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Unwanted

Handbags and purses which have a dodgy zip.
An old china mug with a massive great chip.
Clothes which are now all bobbled and holed,
With their colours faded, where once they were bold.
New clothes unworn, which are still in their pack,
And others, fresh off the rail, with labels still attached.
A skirt which is old and no longer quite fits.
T-shirts with sweat patches under the arm pits!
But expensive designer wear is given away too.
Books, which are still in the chart, they're so new,
While others are discoloured and all dog-eared;
All topics are covered: the wonderful and weird.
Shoes with their heels all scuffed and worn down.
Belts, whose owner's waists, they now won't fit round.
Double CDs, which are missing one of their discs.
Jigsaw puzzles, which have one of their pieces amiss.
Fluffy, soft toys, which are still sporting their tags.
Old Queen Elizabeth II coronation souvenir mags.
Ornate and plain vases made of pottery or glass.
All types of jewellery - the array is so vast.
All stock is sorted by volunteers at the charity shop.
Donations keep coming, so the staff never stop.
Unsaleable items are recycled or thrown away,
With only the very best stuff, being allowed to stay.
So, you may very well pick up a bargain in-store,
Or spot something which you've never seen before.
Charity shops are just like an Aladdin's cave,
But would be nothing, if kind people never gave.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Charity Shop

They're not called second hand stores
as that's not politically correct
so you must call them charity shops
out of courtesy and respect.
But where would we be without them?
because some are like an Aladdin's cave
as in them you'll find all kinds of stuff
and look at all the money you can save.
There's clothes for all shapes and sizes
Jumpers, T.Shirts, Trousers, and Shoes,
myself I like looking through the books
and the C.D'S of Rock, Pop, and the Blues.
We're living in a time of Austerity
meaning there's not much money to go around
so thank God for all of the charity shops
and those that sell everything for a pound.
So if your a bloke looking for a suit
or a woman after a blouse or a top
there's a good chance you'll find one
down your good old local charity shop!

poem by Kevin Halls
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The Charity Shop

I said to my friend, , , , , , , , , ,
Have you ever visited a Charity Shop,
It really is worth a lengthy stop,
To search amongst rails of second- hand clothes,
All of which, at one time, somebody chose,
And find a bargain with a designer label,
Purchased probably by someone called Mabel.
So into one, we then made our way,
And started looking without delay.
So I said to my friend.........
Now here is a really smashing blouse,
Your interest, I know this will easily arouse.
Now it's your size, so that's quite nice,
Bought probably at a ridiculous price.
You could even wear it to the the office 'do',
With that skirt that's got the ribbon slotted through
The hem, and it's just the perfect shade,
Should I say turquoise, or maybe jade.
Well anyway, it's very you,
So what do you think, give me a clue.
Whatever else, it's only 'two fifty',
I think for that, it's kind of nifty.
So is it a 'goer'? what do you say? ,
For if you don't want it, I'm willing to pay
The price for a Zandra Rhodes design,
For when wearing it, I would feel divine.
You'll have it, I just knew you would,
Now anything more to make you feel good.
My friend shook her head........
Okay, that's enough for a first inspection,
For a Charity Shop, you can get quite an 'affection'.
It's fun, it's bargain hunting with a capital B,
My friend in the end, said, she had to agree.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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All That I Have Left

The Apostle Paul recommended women should
not seek beauty in hairstyles, ornaments, jewellery
and expensive clothes, true beauty lies in character;
I say: Thank you, the hairstyle is easily done due to
the thin feathers on my head, as for the clothes

I have to wear something, the clothes I have is ugly
enough - I cannot find pretty clothes in my size - and
now I find none that fits, neither pretty or ugly; at least
Paul said clothing is required, my only option is to mail-
order a burka as the clothes in our Western shops

Are an unqualified flop - for me at least, I comply with
the requirements for looking ugly; working on character
is all that I have left - Paul, you did not recommend
anything, you simply stated the state of affairs!

1 Timothy 3: 9 & 10

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Less Thought to Accomplish

It would be wonderful to leave tags and labels,
On everyone.
To ensure that having a satisfaction is done.
And those tags and labels never move in time.
Remaining in our minds as something that takes,
Less thought to accomplish.
But so grateful we are when the ease of it is found.

It would be wonderful to claim people are what we say.
And from our narrow perspectives they would stay that way.
To perfect a game that is safely played,
In a world getting more complexed everyday.
And everyday there seems to be disappointments made,
When nothing we pigeon-hole fits properly in its place.
And we become stressed to locate a depiction that conveys...
Just what those limits are that comforts our consciousness.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Left Behind

Sometimes when people are leaving a train,
Behind them, personal belongings still remain.
It is totally amazing what items are found
Each day, on London's busy Underground.

The shelves at Lost Property are very neatly lined,
With an array of items, that people have left behind.
Here are just some of the things, they have retrieved;
Some items really have to be seen, to be believed!

School bags, containing a flask and lunch box,
A stuffed Japanese puffer fish, and a stuffed fox.
Purses, leather wallets, and bunches of keys,
Hats, scarves, gloves, and numerous brollies.

Walking sticks, crutches, and the odd wheelchair,
An array of children's toys, including teddy bears,
Briefcases and folders, containing important notes,
A selection of clothing, including jumpers and coats.

iPads, iPhones, memory sticks, and laptops,
A collection of shoes, socks, and flip-flops.
A whole library of books: fiction and fact,
Suitcases and holdalls, still neatly packed.

Works of art, by artists, both modern and old,
Many items of jewellery, both silver and gold.
Prosthetic arms and legs, and sets of false teeth,
Bags of groceries, including joints of fresh beef.

Cameras, video-cams, and pairs of sunglasses.
Baby buggies, skateboards, train and bus passes.
Hundred of items are left behind every single day;
To Lost Property, these items soon make their way.

Some items, with their owners, are soon reunited;
Owners are very clearly relieved and delighted.
Some items wait for many weeks for collection;
For them, nobody seems to show any affection.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Shop, she shops!

Once she constantly smiled
Bought cloths and jewelry that gave her style

Shop, shop, shop
She shopped till she dropped
Shop, shop, shop
She just could not seem to stop

Her credit was on top
Her spending way rocket up
She paid with cash or credit card
This Lady was absolutely shopping mad
Shoping malls!
Markets stalls!
Shoes, clothing, and handbags she bought all year long
Spend, spend and spend daily was her beloved song

Shop, shop, shop
She now shops like a flop
Shop, shop, shop
This lady has now put a stop

Today is different shopping expedition
This time spending with supervision
No more that crazy spending addiction

Her credit card is cut
Her goods seized, the whole lot
Today she spends, her pockets hurt!

She has become street wise
Haggling with each price
She has become precise
About what she needs and not what is nice

Shop, shop, shop
She shops like a flop
Shop, shop, shop
Her spending has taken a big drop!
This lady has now put a stop to shop!

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Skint but Happy!

Struggling to pay my bills
not much money coming in
so I'll have to watch the pennies
as my wallet is looking rather thin.
No nights out in the pub for a while
and instead of the Bus I'll just walk
sell unwanted stuff on good old E bay
and text as it's expensive to phone and talk.
Still I could do with losing a few pounds
and when your skint you can't over eat
I'll buy my clothes from charity shops
and become a Vegan so that means no more costly meat.
But they say money doesn't bring us happiness
and the best thing is to have your health
so I'll just keep on smiling and be cheerful
and be grateful to be broke and not full of wealth!

poem by Kevin Halls
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Luxury is no longer displayed in buildings and external decorations. The carriages are plain, while the servants are less numerous, the fine clothes out of fashion, expensive horses are no longer kept, diamonds are at a discount, and jewellery has fallen into discredit.

quote by Madame de Sartory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lourdes 2006

Jimmy opened his suitcase in the room
at Lourdes and said Oh no there's molasses
all over the clothes and shoes and I've got

a whole week here and he sat down in a chair
his head in his hands saying What have I done?
What am I going to do for clothes now? you

went over and looked in and sure enough
the molasses were over his clothes and shoes.
What am I going to do? he said and you said

Leave it to me Jim I'll sort it and you went through
the clothes taking out the items untouched
by the molasses and set them aside on the bed

and then carried the suitcase of black sticky items
Into the washroom and there one by one you carefully
washed them through with soap and water until

they were clean and smelt of soap and fresh air
and all the while 94 year old Jim sat in a chair
watching with his eyes watery and jaw hung loose

seeing the black water run down the wide plughole
and once it was done you wrung the clothes out
like your mother used to do when you were a kid

and hung them out on the balcony on the small
clothesline and placed the washed out black shoes
by the outside wall to dry out in the hot afternoon

sun and Jimmy came over and stood on the balcony
with one hand on the rail and the other on his stick
looking over at the Pyrenees in the distance and he

said That was real good of you. I owe you big time
and you stood next to him feeling the hot afternoon
sun on your face and arms and felt good and you

said You owe me nothing Jim I just did what some
good guy would and his watery eyes swept over you
matching the French sky's watery afternoon blue.

poem by Terry Collett
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Sarah’s Wardrobe

She glides up to the dais all dressed in reds
Wearing best damned duds money can buy
John paid $150K for her expensive threads
“I’ll give my clothes to charity” was her alibi

(So much for “Soccer Mom” identifying with “Joe Six-pack” & “Joe the Plumber”)

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Farewell Woolies

So farewell, wonderful Woolies
Once High Street’s essential shop
For all those bits and pieces
That we had gone and plain forgot.

Though you’re a commercial dinosaur
You’re still loved, unlike T-rex;
We’d love to ring the blooming banks
Or even wring their scrawny necks.

For they, your administrators:
Have they no nostalgic respect?
Your forthcoming centenary,
Do they just ignore and reject?

What other merchandiser
Has become such a household name?
Though other shops supply the same stuff,
It won’t ever feel just the same.

So, farewell, wonderful Woolies,
Once thruppence and sixpenny store,
Such a redoubtable, dependable emporium,
We’ll not see your like any more.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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My Brothers

While I make rhymes my brother John
Makes shiny shoes which dames try on,
And finding to their fit and stance
They buy and wear with elegance;
But mine is quite another tale,--
For song there is no sale.

My brother Tom a tailor shop
Is owner of, and ladies stop
To try the models he has planned,
And richly pay, I understand:
Yet not even a dingy dime
Can I make with my rhyme.

My brother Jim sells stuff to eat
Like trotters, tripe and sausage meat.
I dare not by his window stop,
Lest he should offer me a chop;
For though a starving bard I be,
To hell, say I, with charity!

My brothers all are proud of purse,
But though my poverty I curse,
I would not for a diadem
Exchange my lowly lot with them:
A garret and a crust for me,
And reams and dreams of Poetry.

poem by Robert William Service
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No Charity Too Is Good

Acts of attrition promote charity.
The guilt built might demand charity.
Seeking God’s bliss might cause charity.
From the surplus one might do charity.

Beneficiary being the needy,
Charity is a benevolent act.
Doing no charity is excellent
By not earning more than the bare need.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Mendicants

Charity, Charity - parson and priest
Ever in church and in chapel have taught
'Give ye in charity e'en to the least,
So may the favor of Heaven be bought.
Strive ye in Virtue, for Him that we call
Master has named it the greatest of all.
Strive ye in holiness;
Owner of acres and breeder of sheep.
Cleaning his wealth with a masterful hand,
Scheming for profit with schemes that are deep.
Yet is the squatter a generous soul
A generous donor, and this be more:
He never begrudges - nor misses - the dole
Of gratuitous guineas he flings from his store.

Charity, Charity - purchase your fame!
All the world honours a giver of alms.
Noble philanthropist! Publish his name!
Scatter his gift to the suppliant palms.
Nay! Would you ask how his guineas are won?
Mark his beneficence? See what he's done!
Thank him, ye lowly ones;
Bless him you holy ones.
Charity, Charity - worthily done!

Humble BILL HODMAN is agèd and poor;
Owning no riches and owning no lands,
Living the life of a labouring boor,
Earning his bread by the toil of his hands.
Yet is the toiler an obstinate soul
An obstinate pauper, and this be more:
He'd answer with curses if offered a dole
In charity out of a rich man's store.

Charity, Charity - ignorant clowns!
What should ye know of personal pride?
Shame on your surliness! Shame on your frowns!
Spurring the gifts that the wealthy provide!
Are they not generous? Are they not kind?
Pride is their privilege, why should ye mind?
Study servility;
Practise humility.
Charity, Charity - fools, ye are blind!

Proud Squatter REX has a charming wife
Queen of society, lady of birth;
Nurtured in luxury, smiling thro' life,
Ever enjoying the sweets of the earth.
Ah, but she pities the poor o' the land
Sweet benefactress, as kind as her lord.
Patroness she of a slum-working band,
President, too, of a hospital board.

Charity, Charity - down in the slums
Misery stalks 'mid the lean o' the land.
Angel beneficent! See where she comes,
Scattering gifts with a generous hand.
Sweet Lady Bountiful, draw in your skirt;
Shrink from the misery squalor and dirt.
Pity is lured to it?
Nay, they're inured to it.
Charity, Charity is their desert.

Labourer BILL has a toil-worn wife
Drudge of the lower class, cradled in care;
Nurtured in poverty, struggling through life,
Knowing too well all the bitterness there.
Ah, but she nurses a foolish old pride
Wife of a labourer barren of lands
Knowing the 'comforts' they humbly divide
Are earned, doubly earned, by the toil of their hands.

Charity, Charity - nay, foolish drudge!
Why should you slave till the end of your day?
Think of the wealthy who never begrudge
Gifts to the 'Home' where the indignent stay.
Why should mendicity shame such as you?
Indigence, beggary - these are not new.
Where is the blame for it?
What's in the name of it?
Charity, Charity - it is your due.

Proud Squatter REX, does your lordly soul
Shrink from the thought of a mendicant whine?
Are you too proud to solicit a dole
Won by the sweat of a fellow of thine?
What of the subsidy sued for and paid?
Paid at a word from a tool of the 'class';
Earned, hardly earned, at a labourer's trade
Charity wrung from the toil of the mass.

Charity, Charity - what's in a name?
Whine for a subsidy, lo, and it comes!
Still it is charity ever the same
Begged from a palace or cadged from the slums.
Call it a clever political game
Yours is the sordidness, yours is the shame.
Moneyed mendacity,
Skilled in duplicity.
Charity, Charity! - this is its name.

Sweet lady Bountiful, queen of your set,
Selfish for pleasure and greedy for show,
When come the toys and the treasures you get/
Have you considered or wanted to know?
Nay, would you stoop to take pence from the poor,
Soiled with the sweat of an overworked wife
Loaf on the toil of a labouring boor,
Squander his pittance to lighten your life?
Charity, Charity - cover your face!
This is your charity, this is your pride:
To laugh, and to live, and to know the disgrace
Of squandering pence that the needy provide.
Some toiling sister, some work-weary soul,
Is slaving the harder to eke out your dole.
Blush for the shame of it!
Shrink form the name of it!
Blush for your name upon Charity's roll!

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Old Fashioned, Not Me.!

‘Old Fashioned' (Not Me!)

‘Old fashioned' they say,
"Who me, ? No way".
Don't like ‘Rave' or ‘Rap',
That's not music that.
Don't care for ‘Boxer' shorts or a Shell suit,
Maybe colourful and cute.
But it's plain to see,
They are not for me.
All those designer clothes,
Are only worn for laughs and to pose.
And the cost to buy a name,
We are the ‘mugs' in this fashion game.!
Small fortunes just to be able,
To wear a fancy label.
And the price of trainer shoes,
Would give your wallet the blues.

Now and then, an item may catch my eye,
If the price is right, I may just buy.
But no way will I keep up with the latest in-thing,
No to the trends I won't give in.
So my family can keep on bashing,
My sense of fashion.
Yes they can laugh and scoff,
But they can all knob off.

I will stick to my ‘straight-legged' jeans,
No need for flashy seams.
No need for multi-collared paint splattered jackets,
With dozens of zips and pockets.
I'll stick to my denims or leather,
This will last a lot better.
Those fancy track-suits and types are so thin,
May as well use them for a bin.! !
So I don't really care so there,
I'll wear what I'll wear.

Sept' 1992

poem by Guy Lipmore
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You Don't Know Me

I will disguise myself so no one
will really know who I am.
I will wear bright clothes and flashy shoes
and they will call me ma'am.

But when I'm in no one's company
I'll let my hair all down.
I'll put on a drab old shirt
and slippers of shabby brown.

For clothes do make the person.
That's what I've been told.
When my flashy clothes are on
I'm a sight to behold.

But that's not who I am you know.
I'm just a plain old gal.
But I can fool the best of them.
They think I'm a femme fatale.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Coat Of Many Colors

(dolly parton)
Back through the years I go wondering once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
And how my mamma put these rags to use
There were rags of many colours, and every piece was small
And I didnt have a coat and it was way down in the fall
Mamma sewed the rags together, sewing ever piece with love
She made my coat of many colours, that I was so proud of
As she sewed she told the story from the Bible she had read
About a coat of many colours, joseph wore and they she said
Perhaps this coat will bring you, much love and happiness
And I just couldnt wait to wear it, and mamma blessed it with a kiss
My coat of many colours that mamma made for me
Made only rags, but I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money. oh I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
So with patches on my breaches and holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colours, I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing and makin fun of me
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
Oh, I couldnt understand it, for I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love my mamma sewed in ever stitch
And I told them all the story, mamma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colours is worth more than all of their clothes
They didnt under stand it and I tried to make them see
That one is only poor only if they choose to be
Now I know we have no money, but Im as rich as I could be
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
In my coat of many colours, my mamma just made for me

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One-Eyed Bear

In the stock room, at the charity shop, I saw a teddy bear,
Sat, looking very forlorn and I wondered why he was there.
His fur was very plush, and, unusually, in colour, he was plum,
But, he sat there looking extremely lonely and really rather glum.

He had quite deep set eyes,
And, at first, I didn’t realise.
Only one eye shone, as it caught the light;
The poor teddy bear only had half of its sight.

His remaining eye was as black as coal,
But on the other side, there was now a hole.
I knew he needed an owner just like me,
And I was very kindly given him for free.

In looks, he was really very appealing and ever so soft.
It’s a shame to think that he was someone else’s cast-off
So, now it’s my mission to get him a new eye;
To restore his full sight, I’m now going to try.

He may look slightly different to the others,
But he needs someone to help him to recover.
I couldn’t just leave him there on his own to rot.
Other bears would have got sold and he would not.

He would have been stuck in a bag and thrown away,
But, now with me, in my house, he has come to stay.
At present, his fate is still pending,
But I can foresee a happy ending.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Tom-Boy Cinderella

Fancy clothes, tiara like a queen
Why can't I come in my jeans?
Manicured nails, skin like a dove
Why can't I wear my baseball glove?
Jewellery from head to toe
Even though I don't wanna go
Don't need my hair curled or any more make-up
So much 'girlishness' I think I might just throw up
Do I really have to go to the ball
And no lets NOT head to the mall
'Cause all this princess stuff is making me wince
And I certainly not marrying any prince
'Cause all I wanna do is watch wrestling on TV
So stop trying to make a Cinderella out of me! ! !

poem by Silly Artist
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Do You See My Truths? .....

naked shall you see me
dressed in twilight

do you see the truth in me now?
you are wrong
for my thoughts are still covered thickly
and each letter
still tries to conceal what my words
shall try to speak

everyday i write the words
the poems that you read
do you claim to see the truths in me now?
you are wrong again
for what i am still belongs to those
unspoken

and in my silence i shower you
with its emptiness
do you see my truths now?
you are wrong again
my silence does not speak everything
there is still the hush of the wind
the chimes of wood and metal
this silence runs and does not stop
and you flag it
and talk to it

do you hear my truths? do you see them now?
you are wrong again
for i have buried all of them in their niches
when you open each
you will find no door
when you go over the windows
you will see what truths might still be there

those dried petals of a rose
those letters with words faded like sunsets
those broken pieces of porcelain and glass
those jigsaw puzzles still
unfilled
those chains with missing links
those buttons that do not fit

do you see my truths now?
i agree, on those dusts, they have now become yours
visible to the caution of
your heart.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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